The Deception of Gold
by morgianesff
Summary: (#1 IN SERIES). This story is part of several prequels that will lead up to the events in 'That Which Wander is Unaware'. It centers on Arnora's childhood and formative years on Asgard.
1. Chapter 1

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to T.W.W.i.U will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album by searching the title of this story and my user name.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

1385 AD

ASGARD

THIS YEAR ON MIDGARD

The Union of Krewo establishes the Jagiellonian dynasty in Poland and Lithuania and brings an end to the Greater Poland Civil War.

* * *

ARNORA DAGNYSDOTTIR

* * *

In all truth, when someone uses the phrase 'my life began' it typically refers to the day of your birth, when you drew your first breath and cried your first note. If one was to take it literally and only so, that is all it would mean.

But the other truth of reality is that everything is subject to interpretation. Your life can begin, and end, and begin again. It happens to everyone, whether their consent or knowledge is present. It can be a moment that passes like a pin drop in a crowded room, or a landslide off a mountain. There may be no limit to its number because each life is different, no limit but the time left in body you live in.

My life began... when I was born. The 4th of April in the year 1177 AD, according to the standard of Midgard.

The name I was given was Arnora, and the name I inherited was Dagnysdottir for that is who I was. Arnora, daughter of Dagny, daughter of Kelda, daughter of Dagasi. And many others, but whose names have fallen out of use with the lifting of their Lights.

The names I did not inherit, on account of my gender, but are held just is dearly to my heart are Yingjie, the name of my father. Son of Khasar, son of Bataar. His names are good, and strong by my reckoning. They are names that had proven their worth.

But it would be the names he did not inherit into his that would truly affect the course of my life. The name of his mother, who has no other children. Eydis, daughter of Saga. Saga, who is also the mother of Eir. My grand aunt is Eir, the greatest healer in the history of Asgard, and with my birth, to my family and to the kingdom I have become a beacon of hope.

Saga's daughters both had the magick in their blood, but Eydis never took up the art, and Eir never took a husband or mothered a child. I am the next daughter down the line and the blood I share with them will determine the course of my life, or its shame.

My life began... with the arrival of my tenth year.

By the standards of Midgard I had been alive for thirty years, but even though our days are similar in length, time is viewed differently in Asgard and so is age. In our natural state we age three times slower than the mortals of Midgard. So on Asgard I was only a child of ten, and I had just reached the first transition point in my life. I was to undergo the Rite and receive the Idunn's blessing.

Idunn, the keeper of the Golden Apples is another woman whose destiny was chosen for her. Her name is not so much a name is it is a sacred title. She is the High Priestess of the Ageless Sisterhood, and she is faceless. She is never seen without her mask, because the woman may age, but what she represents should not. The Idunn has always existed, the one woman who is entrusted with the secrets of the Golden Apples, and will upon her deathbed pass the knowledge and name to a disciple of her choosing.

Idunn. A name that was most frightening to me. I was scared and my youthful ignorance grew into a sense of paranoia. I was sure that, being the great woman that she was, the Idunn would look down upon me and find me wanting. I was scared I would not receive her blessing, I would not receive the Apples. I would be left aging is I did, and never even reach my 300th year, withering away into nothing is everyone I knew looked on in pity and disgust.

Not even the reassurances of my mother could convince me otherwise. I had proof after all, Amora told me so herself. She said when she went through her rite a year before that the Idunn took one look at the boy next to her, and just passed him by! She even heard that the boy died of a 'disease', something horrible that only afflicted mortals, and no one even knew until they found him shriveled up like a grape left on a hot rock in the sun!

It took my mother a full month to get the cause of my fear out of me, and after that Amora became suspiciously absent from my life. It was only years later, coming on the cusp of rising maturity, that I realized what had happened and why. It was jealousy that motivated her maliciousness. Amora hated me for my name, so very similar to her own, and the prestige I was likely to be blessed with, just for the fact I was born to the right family.

But even with Amora no longer speaking disquieting lies in my ears my mother had to all but drag me to the ceremony, and whisper reassurances and minor threats to insure my obedience. I only gave her a reprieve when I saw the Idunn appear out of the crowd. I didn't dare misbehave then, because I knew for sure I would lose my chance.

I was is perfect is a nervous child could be. Then it all went away when she came to me, her attendant with her, holding the basket of Apples, and though I did not see it I felt her smile at me as she greeted me by my own name. The Idunn knew who I was! I was not scared anymore, I felt like the luckiest girl alive, and if it was not for my mothers finger against her grinning lips, I might have laughed with relief.

My life began... when I became a servant in the royal court.

I was fourteen now, and an Einharjar came to our home, bearing a sealed summons. Such a thing was not uncommon and even the fact that the seal was royal one, while very unusual, was not entirely alarming in itself given who we called family. What I did find strange was that it came for me!

I was still a young girl, not even having went through my first blood yet, and well from a family of note, did not bear much nobility of my own. I could not understand why they would summon me, and was left so dumbstruck that my mother had to take the letter from the guard herself.

The letter, is such a letter is known to do, explained itself. I was to be a servant in the royal household. That knowledge took away some of my shock. It was not uncommon for children of lesser noble households to fill such stations, in fact it was usually expected and encouraged by their family's is a way to elevate their place in society.

But it was usually something the family initiated, hosting events to introduce their children to the court and try to garner the best position for them as a means to be chosen by a family of certain station. I would not have to go through that process because someone chose me already, and that someone was the Lady Freya.

Freya, the daughter of Njord, the once King of Vanaheim. Freya, sister to the renowned Lord Frey. Freya, the Princess of Vanaheim.

I was ecstatic once I managed to process the news beyond my shock. But that night my parents fought. I could hear my mother shouting through the house. She was furious about it, and I could not understand why?

It was an honor to be chosen to serve a Princess, _our Princess_. My mother had more Aesir blood in her, but my father in contrast was more Vanir. He told me stories about Vanaheim, and the Vanir Royal Family. He said great things of the Golden Siblings, Frey and Freya. He talked about her beauty, and his hard won fame in the arena's. Everything he told me sounded so wonderful, it painted such a fine picture of them, I could not understand why my mother was so upset.

She even called her a cow, amidst a great number of other things I did not catch, but that was enough for me! I was horrified that Lady Freya would find out, and I would lose this chance. So I begged my mother to stop being so angry, and to not ruin this wonderful opportunity for me. I could not understand why her smile was so sad when she finally gave in.

I understood when I returned home from the first evening in Freya's service. I walked back home in tears.

I had this delusion in my head that somehow I had done something that caught her attention and intrigued the Golden Princess, that she choose me because she saw me as worthy. I could not have been more wrong.

Yes, I had done something to catch her attention, but it was not necessarily in a positive light. I had been born. Our families are distantly connected, not by blood, but allegiances in a time of war. It was a 'secret' that my father never mentioned, on the behest of my mother. A dark lining to a golden dawn.

Saga, my great grandmother on my father's side, who brought Eydis, and the renowned Eir into the world, also bore a third daughter. A daughter to a Jotunn. The giantess Skadi, a name I had never heard spoken until it was spat at me.

I was a grandniece to a Jotunn mongrel. That knowledge came with a terrible sting. My family breed with the enemy once. Though I shared none of Skadi's Jotunn blood, she was still half sister to my grandmother Eydis. I came from traitorous blood Freya told me, and the only reason she wanted me, despite my filthy family, is that I was Vanir, and that made me more qualified to serve her than a Aesir maiden. And someday, I might develop a skill great enough to make others overlook my dirty blood.

This was what my mother was upset about. She did not mention it in a mother's desire to protect her child's innocence. She meant well by it, but not telling me left me open to attack. I did not hate her for it though, I was too upset, and I just wanted her to hold me and take away my tears with gentle words and the safety of her arms.

She told me is she comforted me that night, the parts the Princess 'forgot' to mention. Yes, it was true that my great grandmother Saga bore a child to a Jotunn, who by all accounts was an exceptional warrior among his people. This did not make my blood 'dirty' is the 'cow queen' said.

Times were different. It was not forbidden or frowned upon to cross over the racial line is it was now. Our family was not the only one to do so either. It was a time of war, and the Jotunn were allies to the Vanir. Many daughters of Vanaheim were chosen to bear Jotunn children, as a means to strengthen the alliance. My grand aunt Skadi was one of the children born out of that alliance.

And the real reason the Princess hates me, is her father, the great King Njord, took Skadi is his wife after his first marriage ended with a funeral pyre. It is not me the Princess hates, just a tiny connection to someone she feels tarnishes her reputation more than her own poor behavior.

While my mother held me, and ran her fingers through my hair, while she soothed me with happy memories and gentle words, she told me there was no shame if I never went back. They would find another house to take me. I made the first adult decision of my life that night.

It was her love is a mother that made her say that for she did not wish to see me cry, but she was wrong. There would be shame. Freya would see to it personally that I never lived it down. She would slander my name, label me weak and say I scorned her good will, if I gave her the opportunity. Worse still, she would slander my family's name.

I went back. I endured, and I never cried in my mothers embrace again. I was a daughter of Asgard and Vanaheim, born into a family of nobility, even if it was minor at best. I always knew, despite my mothers coddling, that I was born to meet certain expectations and this would be one of them. I could and would be stronger than cruel words.

I would not shame my family by running away from the first sign of hardship. I would not give Freya that much pleasure.

My life began... the day I bled.

Idunn's rite, or Freya's abuse paled in the presence of my first blood. When our women, Aesir and Vanir alike, reach a certain level of maturity we know by the drops of blood between our thighs. It's not like the women of Midgard who they say bleed every month, but a singular event in our lives is our bodies change. I was fifteen, and I was on the edge of the next transition of my life. I could bare children of my own now, that meant I was also of marrying age and would soon be expected to take a husband.

I was a woman now, but I felt like a frightened child again.

I had not felt so nervous in what seemed like two hundred years. I was afraid it would hurt. I was far from ignorant toward what happens between a man and a woman, I served in Freya's chambers after all. I was quite familiar with it, but only in the way of second hand accounts. Dirty sheets, clothing and naked skin were my teachers, as were the gossiping tongues of the other maids, but I never witnessed or participated in the act itself.

It came with other nervous thoughts is well. Once I was married, I would not live in the house of my parents anymore. I would live with my husband, a man who was still more of a faceless concept than a real person, and manage a house of my own.

And I would finally be tested. My mother, ever determined to hang on to my childhood for me, made sure it was always put off, but now that I was a truly woman, there was no more avoiding it. I would go to Eir myself, and she would look to see if I had inherited our family's gift. To see at last if I lived up to the hope my birth brought.

That was something completely out of my control, it would either be there or it would not. If it was not it would bring such shame and disappointment to my family, and it would be a burden inherited by the next generation, one that would most likely be my children. There was nothing I could do except wait and hope the Norn's were kind.

The answer came, and it brought great celebration. I had the gift. I would be a healer, I would be Eir's student, and someday in the future I would be her heir is well and take my place is head of the healing hall, and personal healer to the Royal family. It was what my family prayed for ever since I was born. I was happy with them, and relieved, and concerned.

I was glad that the magic was in me, that I could make my family proud. It was the rest of the world that made me nervous. I knew how magic was viewed, it was no secret to me, I saw it every time people looked at my father.

Seiðrmadr they called him. Had my father just been a born a woman, he would have been honored and praised, and been Eir's heir himself, but by the chance of his gender he was denied the right to use his gifts. He was nothing but a man with tricks to them and I hated them for that, every time the laughed at my father and he simply smiled and kept performing for them.

I would never let them mock me for 'performing tricks'. I would work hard, and be a great healer. I made that promise to myself. I would never do anything else but heal with my magic, I would make them respect me, respect us. They would call me father great someday, because I was his daughter and my gifts came to me through him!

Eir was an excellent teacher, kind and patient, but stern and serious is well. She was of course still the Healer of the Royal family and with the brash nature of the elder Prince, Thor, she was often busy too.

That is how I meant Mýrún. A young woman with two years on me, who was a healer by practice, not birth, and had a striking lineage is well. Her mother is a Valkyrior, and Mýrún inherited some of her personality along with her looks. She was also one of Eir's more skilled apprentices. When Eir could not teach me it was Mýrún who supervised my studies, and we soon found we had much in common, even though we never agreed on the importance of fashion.

My life began...the day I met my betrothed.

Since my body had matured into a woman's body, I had begun receiving suitor, and they came with even greater frequency ever since I was officially named the Heir of Eir. It is for that reason my parents were very thorough in their judgment of who they would consider for my hand.

Asgardian marriages, especially in the higher houses with nobility, are usually arranged. But unlike on Midgard that does not necessarily mean forced. A suitor comes calling, and it is up to the parents of the daughter to judge their worth. Many things are questioned. The mans family. His station. His reputation. His properties if he has them. His temperament and personality. His previous marriages if they exist, and finally the opinion of the daughter herself.

You see, the parents choose who they think is good enough for their daughter, but the final judgment is hers. She can refuse any and all of them if she does not find the men suitable, and even if she agrees she still has an opportunity to change her mind, for it is customary to spend a period of at least ten Midgardian years engaged before the marriage actually happens.

The man I said yes to was an Einharjar. A rising lieutenant of the Royal Guard, whose father had distinguished himself as a general in the Jotunn conflict, and known to breed some of the finest horses in Asgard. His name is Randúlfr son of Hávarðr, and with him I began my life.

* * *

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

* * *

The MCU has given us a great deal of information about Asgard, but there is just is much that they haven't given and through out this story of the series I will attempt to fill in some of those gaps.

So far this is what I've added. In actual Norse mythology Idunn is just another Goddess amongst Gods and Goddesses. However since in the MCU (barring loki) the Asgardian don't commonly view themselves is God's, I had to find way to account for her importance. So I made her the High priestess of a spiritual order. I don't consider Asgard to be a very religious place, so it's more comparable to a guild then a church.

Regarding the Vanir, to my knowledge Hogun (which is a play on the word Shogun, and not an actual name) is the Vanir to be named so far. Also in the comic they called it the Vanir System, which implies vanaheim is an actual planet unlike asgard. that implies a certain amount of cultural diversity. So I have pulled influence from the established Mongolian and Tibetan, is well as chinese, India, Malaysian and a little bit of Russian (because Frigga in the comics is said to be Vanir too).

I've also made another adjustment is for is biology. A race that can successfully slow the body's aging process to a crawl, and allow themselves to live for thousands of years has to be able to make other biological alterations. So with that in mind and the their life span, it seems natural that there would find a solution to the issue of menstruation. Otherwise, by their view of time, they would be bleeding every day.

Lastly, and I will do my best to accommodate this, but the MCU has show us limited views of everyday Asgard, and has only introduced a fraction of the characters from the comic. If conflicts arise I will do my best to smooth them over and make adjustments. However this story is set in the past tense, so it is reasonable to assume any characters that show up in future MCU films could have matured or changed between this stories and their appearances in the films.


	2. Chapter 2

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to T.W.W.i.U will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

THIS YEAR ON MIDGARD

The Republic of Venice takes control of the island of Corfu.

* * *

ÓÐINSDAGR, MÖRSUGUR 22ND 1386 AD

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 4TH 1386 AD

EVENING

HEALING HALLS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

"Oh Arnora..." My only reaction as my feet fail to take the next step is the tense sort of smile over taking my lips. "...look at your dress."

I thought I had been doing a decent job of hiding the stress tear on my shoulder beneath my cowl, and by holding my arm against my waist to keep the side of the skirt from dragging over the cobblestone as I hurried to the healing halls for my lessons.

Its an unusual kind of feeling. I am both very relieved that Mýrún noticed the tear as that will save me the trouble of tracking her down to help me fix the problem by mending the seam. But I'm also embarrassed at the same time because if she noticed the flaw in my uniform then it is possible someone else saw it too.

Though that is more unlikely than true. Most would only spare a passing glance at the figure of a young woman hurrying through the streets to her destination, because if they were in the streets they were going somewhere as well. Mýrún though has a sharper eye for fashion then anyone I know, and she often examines mine rather thoroughly when I come in, because she knows who I serve under.

Her keen eye is also something I am more often grateful then not. I would much rather her notice my attire in a state of disrepair then a Noble or a Royal or worse still my Grand Aunt. It is a shameful thing indeed to not be at your best when you serve in the Royal Palace, and it is something I am forced to endure far more than I like.

It is for this reason I have gotten so good at hiding the tears until I can find a chance to repair it properly. Freya has many things about her that are counted as great, and her beauty in my opinion is the lesser one when her temper comes out.

"So what was it this time?" She finally asks after she ushers me into one of the halls unoccupied examination chambers, not even bothering to asking my permission before she rolls the capelet of my uniform up against my neck so she can evaluate the damage at the seams.

"They were quarreling again." I tell her, knowing she knows who I mean. Freya has a brother, and he has matured into the polar opposite of his sister. While she views the opulence of Asgard as a right she deserves, Frey believes that the luxuries they enjoy living on Asgard are less of a right, and more an extension of the ruling family's goodwill. This leads to frequent fights between them, and while Frey is the voice of reason and restraint, he can only do that when he is present. His presence also has limits, and when he leaves her temper often returns two fold. This leaves me in the position to receive it.

I do not blame him for it when it happens because half of it is my choice. I have served in her chambers longer then the most of the other girls, and if I do not take her abuse she will direct it at them. Its why most of the other girls never stay long, Freya has been known to do worse then a torn dress.

I have not even had a chance to examine the damage properly until now either, I was in such a hurry to not be late for my studies so I am curious how much mending it will need. Considering what it could have been it honestly is not that bad this time. The threads around the seam have been weakened from the strain, but have not torn completely free yet. It will barely take any effort for Mýrún to reverse the result of Freya's anger. In fact I can already see the threads stitching themselves back together under the glow of the mending enchantment.

She tried to teach me this skill once, but my stubborn refusal to learn it, or any other that did not involve healing finally made her realize it was less taxing on her patience to just do it for me. I did not refuse to learn because I wanted to annoy her, I simply made a decision a long time ago and refused to budge on the subject.

"Honestly, for siblings..." Her sentence and any future one by me are cut off by a sound we both know and understand well. The echo of an Einherjar's staff stamping against the floor means that someone important has come to our hall, and that is our signal to prepare ourselves to receive them. The conversation is forgotten until later as we both fall onto habit.

Everyone in the hall except for those with patients stop what they are doing, and move to the nearest wall standing patiently at attention as we wait to serve the new arrival. We may be held in higher regard than some, but a healer is still a servant, and we are expected to act accordingly. The only exceptions to this are the those tending to any injured already present. Asgardians are a hardy and proud race so few come to our halls without great need.

Even I, despite not having had time to change into my proper attire for the hall, join my sisters in this. I was not given a chance to change from my handmaidens robes into my healers robes and can not do so now until this business has been finished. Not that I would. Getting caught by a noble trying to sneak off to correct a mistake, is worse than making the mistake in the first place.

I can see the man who enters through the lattice work barricade before me. Though less then a glance tells me he is in fact more of a boy then a man, based on the observation that he doesn't look that much older than my own fifteen. At the very most I would put him somewhere as high as the range of seventeen just on physical development alone.

He is dressed in a fitted forest green tunic with intricate gold embroidery on the hem and sleeves, as well as the open V of his neck line which exposes the stiff collared gray shirt underneath it. He is also wearing brown leather leggings, with the ends of them tucked into his knee high black boots and greaves. Every piece of his attire has clearly been tailor made for him, and that suggests wealth but it is really the sigil that gleams as his golden vambrace passes through the light that stands out to me. Outside of the man himself only the royal family are allowed to wears the sigil of the All-Father and given this young mans age as well as his raven locks he must be none other than Odin's second born son.

The Prince, Loki, is in our hall and I am not dressed appropriately. _Oh please, by the Norn's, do not see me._

"I have a fool in need of healing too proud to be seen in your hall ." He says as he comes to a stop in the middle of our line, the pair of Einharjar accompanying him following suit as he looks over us, much to my distress. "Who among you is a senior level apprentice, that is not otherwise occupied?"

The one who answers first is Tolla, a healer that has been here longer then both of us and was one of Mýrún's tutors when Eir was unavailable. She is also at the moment, a tiny bit of a saint in my eyes. I saw Mýrún began to consider answering his request and had kick her foot as a warning, being ever so glad she when she did not reply, for obvious reasons.

Not that I think Mýrún is any less qualified as a healer, or I find anything wrong with her wanting to take advantage of a chance to treat the friend of a Prince. I simply did not want her to draw his attention toward us while I was not dressed properly.

With a healer now at his disposal he wasted no more time in giving her his orders and leaving one of the Einharjar to escort her to her patient before he turned to leave. I finally let myself relax, thinking the moment was over. That was my mistake.

I did not abandon my bow, but as I released a tiny relieved breath I found myself taking it back in with earnest when I realized I was under the scrutinizing gaze of a pair of aqua green eyes.

I had drawn the Prince's attention after all, and at the worst possible time! Worse still, and I prayed I was only imagining this part, his lips seemed to bare a bit of a tiny offended frown as his brow pulled together in thought.

My need for prayer and concern vanish in the next second though, with his passage through the door and out of the hall. Whatever the Prince was thinking, and whoever he was looking at did not seem that terribly important to him. He simply shook his head a little and looked away, going off to whatever destination he had that did not involve us, and certainly did not involve me.

"Oh, by the All Mother, Arnora" Mýrún's voice almost sounds like it is laughing as I turn to face her at the sound, finding her doing a very poor job of hiding her grin behind her hand. "You are absolutely pink." My response does not stand to win any awards for originality, not that I planned for it to or cared much if it did, I simply needed to say it.

"Do not be ridiculous, no I am..." It also does not stand a chance to finish as I watch her hand reach out and rest hovering over one of the golden mirrored trays nearby, daring me to give her a reason to pick it up and prove me wrong. So I concede my defeat with a sigh. "I do not need to see it." And while she would have enjoyed showing me the evidence on my own skin, she is just as content with this victory if her laugh has anything to say about it.

But then again, mine says much the same thing. "Well now that 'that' is over..." I finally drive the laugh out of my words with one last steadying breath. "Will you help me get dressed and do my hair before anyone else in the Royal family shows up?"

I expected a simple yes, but instead I got a "Oh! I almost forgot..." As she reaches into and pulls a folded bundle of silk from the fold of her overcoat. " _Somebody_ was here and left a present for you."

There is only one person I know that would do that and inspire that teasing singsong tone of hers. "Randulfr was here? My fiancee?" Her answer is a shrug, then a grin

"Well, unless you have more then one of those now..." Which grows into an even bigger one at my annoyed scowl. "Then yes, that one. He was going to wait for you at the gate but got called away. Now hurry up and open it." She all but shoves it into my hands with those words, but I still delay doing as she asks and instead give her a perplexed look, prompting her to ask

"What?..." Before she realizes what I'm silently accusing her of. "Oh, of course I did not open it, why would you even think that?" That expression of perplexed turns to something more bemused.

"Okay, fine. Because I have done it a few..." The cocking of my brow makes her revise it mid speech to "...'a lot' of times before, but I really did not this time, I swear, now let me see it."

Giving in with a giggle I finally do what what we both really want me to do, I open it. I cannot pretend I am not alight with anticipation. What woman would not be when receiving a token from her betrothed, especially given that its only been the first year of the traditional ten.

I make quick work of the knot on top, the fact that the fabric is apparently silk makes it all the easier to untie, like it was just waiting for me to start the process and was set on helping me finish it. Once the knot as loosened the rest of it all but opened itself, sliding to the sides and reclining casually over my hand, revealing the comb inside. But it is not just a comb as Mýrún is quick to point out.

"Oh Arnora, it is ivory..." Asgard is called the golden realm for a reason. The metal may be rare and precious on Midgard, but here it is as common as the sight of trees or river rocks is there. And here, what is not gold, is still golden. The most common colors, used in all things on Asgard, are in the shades of reds, oranges, and yellows.

To us, making something without gold is considered more unusual than not, and this is not just lacking that color, but its also lacking the perfection of our wares, this carved little accessory of bone was handmade by someone. This is a gift from another realm, most likely a mortal one.

"You are so lucky, I can not wait until I get a fiancee." I laugh at that suddenly despite myself, the sound interrupting her dreamy retreat. It earns me an offended look, one I scoff away.

"Oh please, between you and your mother, you have turned down how many suitors now?" This time it is her turn to throws a insincere scowl in my direction. "Because none of them were good enough for me. I am just waiting for the right one... and your turning pink again little love bird."


	3. Chapter 3

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to T.W.W.i.U will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

THIS YEAR ON MIDGARD

Ruprecht Karl University of Heidelberg, the oldest university in Germany, is founded.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

MORNING

HEALING HALLS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

The voice that calls my name is not unfamiliar to me, and that is what makes it a bit of a surprise. Stopping my deep tissue trauma analysis of the illusion in front of me, I pull my hands back from the soul forge and turn to face the Lady of the hall.

"Yes Mistress?" I am idly aware of Mýrún standing near me, having been observing my work, but now standing respectfully at attention just like me before our teacher. I am also aware of the shimmering figure on the Soulforge sitting up with a flash of curiosity, and swinging its legs over the edge as it waits patiently for me to continue. Even more keenly though, I am aware of her prolonged silence.

It lingers so long I being trying to think of what I may have done wrong.

"Arnora. Who am I?" The question is notably a confusing one to me, but I answer it in what I imagine is accordingly.

"You are Lady Eir, Mistress of the halls of ..." _And incorrectly apparently given that she repeats it again._

"Who am I?"

"You are... Eir Sagasdottir..." Again I find that my answer to her question is wrong, as once more, with a blank expression she asks me who she is.

"You are my grand aunt..." I finally answer, earning a small smile from her that tells me I at last gave her the answer she was searching for.

It was not that I forgot that detail, I never have, nor have I ever been given the chance. Outside these halls more people know me as the 'Heir of Eir' then by my own name, and in here, more people judge me on that. So I try my best to avoid that fact and refuse to accept any special treatment because of it, I prefer to be treated well because of my hard won merit just like the rest of the healers.

That includes calling her 'Mistress' and not referring to our blood relation when I am working in these halls. It works, with the exception of rare moments such as these, where she insists upon it, usually for a specific purpose.

"Good. Then as your grand aunt, I'm here to tell you that you have been here since dawn, on your free day." I want to argue that point, saying something like my studies are more important then my leisure. But she cuts that off too with a different remark. "And your fiancee is waiting for you in the outer hall..."

I can not help but perk up at that and glance excitedly in that direction of the main hall before I remember myself and return to my demure posture, pointedly not reacting to her gentle smirk or Mýrúns chuckle. "And as your _teacher_..." I know I am not going to like that part just on the emphasis. "...I am going to remind you that you passed this exam already."

Before I can even voice the first word of my protest she has run her fingers over the Soulforge, making the swirl of ember lights dance, and the figure shimmer out of existence, from its head to its swinging feet. It extinguishes my protest too once the process starts. Part of wanting to be treated just like everyone else means I can not question her authority lightly, just like everyone else.

So instead I do as anyone else would, and accept her decision with grace, as well as put forth my best effort to not seem overly excited by the news as I wait for her to officially dismiss me for the day, which she does quickly but not without some false chiding about my soldier being fond enough of me to show his face here with no ailment at all. Once she turns to leave Mýrún is quick to insert herself back into my view, and my ears.

"So what do you think he is here for?" Knowing I stand no chance at getting rid of her now that something in my social life has caught her interest, nor having any real desire to, I let her tag along at my side as I make my way to the dressing room to change out of my healers uniform and loosen my hair from the neatly braided bun that is also part of the required dress in the hall.

"I am not sure." My answer for her is half words and half a nonchalant shrug. I am really not certain what brought him here to the healing college, it might simply be he found his schedule free or was assigned patrol today and decided to pay me a visit.

I am more curious at the moment why I heard her footsteps falter to a stop behind me. Turning around I add perplexed and exasperated to the list of things I'm feeling, because she is just standing there, practically fidgeting with an expression that screams of some sort of secret. "Come on..." I say with an annoyed tone, but a grinning expression, because I know she is waiting for me to ask. "...I have not got all day, what is it now?"

"Oh no, I am sure it is nothing..." That look grows as she trots back up to my side, closing the space and starting us again on our walk. "...it being your anniversary and all." But now I am the one stopping in my track.

 _My...Anniversary! Oh, sweet Frigga, she is right!_ I' have been so preoccupied with my studies lately because soon I will be tested to renew my certification to treat lesser internal injuries, such as the exercise I was practicing before Eir dismissed me.

All I have been thinking about is ligaments, muscular and vascular structures, and techniques to check for, avoid, or repair nerve damage that I forgot all about it and... _wait a minute_.

"Why did you remember my anniversary? You have known all day?!" She actually has the sense of self preservation to take a weary step back and hold up her hands in defense.

"Ah ah, now do not be upset, I did not think you truly forgot..." But not enough to back down. " Besides, you shouldn't be angry with me, I did you a favor, I reminded you." For a moment I just glare at her, debating my next move internally, then I drop my head with breathy chuckle.

"I am not angry..." I inform her, lifting my head and offering her a forced smile before I continue moving along. I know she will follow me, and after a few of my steps I hear her own join mine, her pace quick to catch up. Once she does though I add. "I am annoyed, confused, and a little disturbed. It is my anniversary to remember, not yours." That earns a laugh from her as she completely brushes over the fact that her behavior hints of stalking tendencies.

"Yes, yes, I know. He is your fiancee. Don't worry dear, it takes all the fun out of it if I have to steal them from my _friends_." The look I give her makes my brows raise so much that I can actually feel it tug on my eyelids. At least until I realize she is being completely sarcastic. Mýrún may jest about how jealous she is that I have a fiancee, and how much she wants one of her own, but the truth is despite the fact she is considered lovely by most men, she has the opinion typical to most Valkyries, thanks to being the daughter of one, that she is better then most men and does not need one.

"You are as bad as she is sometimes." I do not need to elaborate of who 'she' is, her cross look and derisive huff make it clear she knows quite well enough. "Oh please, I am nothing like that Gilded Princess, and I will not have you make that comparison again." But despite the way she finishes I know she is not offended, because she knows I would never truthfully think that of her. If I did I would not call her my friend.

"Yes, I can see the difference now. You only bait the fiancees of people you do not like." I jab back as we reach the dressing room, and push open the ornately carved door, offering a nod of greeting to one of our 'sisters' as she takes advantage of me holding it, and skirts through before we continue to my cupboard.

"No, correction, I only _fantasize_ about baiting the fiancees of people I do not like." The young apprentice falters in her steps for a moment as she over hears Mýrún, but it is only long enough for her to realize who said it, before she continues out of view, probably with an eye roll and a smirk.

We are all used to Mýrún's behavior here and no one really pays it much mind anymore once they realize it is her normal state. Though sometimes I find myself wishing I could act like that, it must be so liberating to not have to bow to any expectations except your own. Mýrún's done well in her life. Being a healer is an honorable trade, but more importantly it is a trade she got to choose.

"Mhmh. Well, while you are busy fantasizing about the things you do not do, can you help me with my hair?" I ask as we arrive at my closet, and I pick out one of my day dresses to wear before I also collect my second handmaidens uniform to take with me when I leave. Her response of course is a huff, and her motioning for me to turn around so she can start because she knows I am utterly hopeless.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

FORENOON

COURTYARD OF THE HEALING HALLS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

After I change I quickly fold up both of my uniforms, the healers robe I was wearing, along with the spare handmaidens uniform I store here just in case, I now found myself occupied with the next hurtle of my day. Convincing Mýrún she did need to distantly accompany me on whatever adventure my betrothed had planned for the day.

Which lets be honest, it was more along the lines of I told her she could not follow us, and then proceeded to argue down every reason she came up with until she got frustrated with my resolve and finally gave up.

Now I am standing outside the hall door, wearing my lavender halter dress, with my hair down except for the two sets of strands woven into a simple knot to contain it. An appearance that is completely acceptable now that I am no longer bound to the standard of any hall, and that is the argument I present myself. _Even if he is still in his uniform._

It is incredibly silly of me, but I still find myself feeling bashful and insecure around him from time to time. It is not as if I have any concerns about the kind of man I agreed to marry, it is just, this is my first _and will be my only_ engagement.

I may have my mother and future step mother to discuss such things with, as well as the other women in my family and my friends, which does make things easier. Even Mýrún who has never been engaged does have some sound insight on the subject. But it is not like I have any practice in romantic affection. I never even found a boy I felt attracted to before I was engaged.

So this is all terribly new, even though we have been betrothed two years now, and I am still constantly worried I will do something wrong. It also does not help that my fiance is nine years older then me physically, and therefore more experienced at life in general. It just makes me more certain that I will embarrass myself in front of him and not even realize I am doing it.

"My Lady." but as fiancees go, I find myself agreeing more and more each day with my father's decision. I knew my father would never declare someone worthy of me unless he was sure the man would be very good to me, and every time since then that I have spent in Randulfr's company, my faith in that belief is strengthened.

"My Lord." I respond back, reaching out to take his offered arm. His family, like mine holds a degree of mild nobility. Though unlike my own they have the wealth to go with title. It is one of the many reasons that father took into consideration before he made his choice.

Havardr, Randulfr's father breeds horses, a occupation he inherited from his father before him, and one he will pass to my fiancee someday. They have done rather well in that regard. While few outside of the upper nobility have a large enough property to keep their own horses they are still the best way to travel around Asgard and for a fee you can rent a mount from one of the many liveries around Asgard, that is how his family has made their fortune.

Letting him walk me out I smile as he takes the initiative and begins some light conversation, asking me about my day so far, to which I tell him it has been pleasantly uneventful and make no mention of what I forgot. Then he follows it with a mildly loaded question, and as I glance over I can almost see him mentally preparing himself to restrain his ire.

"And before?" He is asking about Freya.

When she does something strange, which she usually does, it does not take long to become public knowledge, and she did so last night. She kept all her servants, myself included, and refused to let us leave her sight for almost a whole day, and then she dismissed all of us without explanation, suddenly tired of our presence.

Now normally I would not fault his concern, Freya is prone to a temper, but this time it was just her being peculiar. She became fixated for some reason and had us polish every inch of her quarters and all the possessions within it. Then when we were done she kicked us out so she could enjoy her chambers in private. "That was surprisingly uneventful as well."

By his alarmed expression I can tell he mirrors the description but accepts it silently as we exit the outer hall and enter the courtyard were his stallion awaits.

I love his horse. As the son of a breeder it is only natural that he has a fine mount of his own, and indeed Vindur is a creature worthy of that praise. He's a silver stallion with black socks and a darkened muzzle, but the trait catches my attention the most is the white streaks in his otherwise ebony mane. That warmed me to him when I first saw him, and of course his instant fondness for me. He is an intelligent beast and he knows that as a woman I am more likely to give him treats then his rider. Though today it seems I will be a rider after all, and also a disappointment to him as we step near. He nudges me, half in greeting and half in snuffling exploration.

"My apologies my friend, I have nothing for you now..." I sooth as I lift my open hands to his muzzle to let him check. "But if you are patient I am sure a sugared plum will be yours soon enough."

I can feel two sets of eyes on me now, one facing from the front and full of eagerness, the other looking at me from the side with chiding bemusement. Randulfr does not believe in 'spoiling' his horse because it needs to be just as well behaved as any warrior, being as much of one as his master.

I however do not see the harm in rewarding it for good behavior from time to time, but given it is not even my horse those 'time to times' are fewer then either of us would prefer. _Vindur really is a fine horse, just as proper and reserved as his master._

He reaffirms that thought too, without even realizing it. Reaching his horse he frees Vindurs reins from the post, then with them still in his hands he puts his foot in the stirrup and hoists himself into the saddle before he urges Vindur to bow and holds out his hand for me so he can assist me into the saddle.

It is not just a courtesy though, it is also a bit of a necessity. His horse is sixteen hands tall, that makes it about as tall as I am at its withers, and unless I want to try and make the step up and expose my legs for all to see, there is no way for me to do it in a dress.

This is something I have no intention of refusing, since I do not mind when he does that. It makes me feel special, and noticed. He is without a doubt an attractive man, who is successful as well as considerate, and I am the woman he choose to give his attentions to. _It makes me feel very special indeed, it is almost embarrassing._

It does not take him much effort to lift me up into a side sit, his hands gripping my waist as his mount adjusts to the additional weight on his back before standing back up to his full height. That is another thing that sometimes makes me feel bashful. While the height of his horse is one thing, and I pay no mind to that, I am often quite conscious of the difference between us. My fiancee's age is nearly double that of mine so it is not surprising that he would be taller, but his heritage contributes to it as well.

Vanir is a people rose out a land of forests and mountain cliffs. We are not as tall as our fair haired Aesir cousins. And while I may not be completely of Vanir blood, its physical presence is stronger than what my mother gave me. By all accounts, whether spoken to sting, or hidden to spare, in Asgard, the native realm of the Aesir, I am considered small for my age.

But I forget all about my insecurities as he settles his arms around me and snaps Vindur's reins gently, sending the horse into a trot. He does not care that I am not tall, and even if he did he chose me still.

"So where are we going?" I ask as I let myself be distracted a little by the life of the city. The clap of hooves, the tramp of feet. The tones of idle conversation, and laughter, and children. The smells of food and drink and salty sea air as we cross the bridge leaving the island the college is built on. The halls of Eir are quiet and still to promote rest and focus, while the halls of Freya are loud and abrasive most of the time. With that knowledge it takes no stretch of the imagination to understand why I prefer to be out of them more than in. But his answer does draw me back into my thoughts a little.

"To my father's estate, there is a bit of business there I need to attend to first, and we will pass through the market on the way." It is that last part that hooks my attention with a smile. I know where his father's house is, being engaged to him it would be more unusual if I did not. So with that knowledge I also know that between here and there, there is not a convenient market on the way unless he made a detour to pass through one.

My look is my question, and he acknowledges it with the tug of a small smirk. "Or do you no longer have any craving for plums today?" My small laugh is enough of an answer to that, and he spurs Vindur back on, though with little need.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

NOON

HAVARDR'S ESTATE

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

It is his mother, and some day soon if the future is willing, my step mother Brynja, who greets us when we pass through the gates to his father's estate. It is also her who chides us first as she hands the task of managing the latest shipment for the kitchen over to one of her servants.

"You are late..." she says before stopping even with us in the archway, her hands smoothing down the golden trimmed top layer of her otherwise muted lavender gray dress and her blonde curls continuing to sway as she tilts her head up to look at us.

Her smile though negates any thoughts that she is genuinely annoyed, and all three of us know it. That is one thing I find I enjoy about my future mother in law. While it is easy to see the similarities between her personality and Freya's sometimes for they are both strong in spirit and vocal in their opinions. Brynja has never been cruel without cause, and where Freya disliked me even before she saw my face Brynja has never done less then embrace me with warmth.

"But at least you had the sense to let the poor girl eat I see, I half expected I would need to steal her away and do it myself, you were so eager to bring her here." She is, though I have never actually seen Freya around her children, a much better mother as well I imagine, given how inherently good at embarrassing her son she seems to be.

"Well come now..." She states suddenly after a moment of silence, before turning and continuing out of the other side of the short tunnel, speaking the rest over her shoulder. "Lets get you both off that saddle so you can join your father, and I can distract my future daughter yes?"

There is a specific word in there that needs some elaboration, but as he kicks the horse back into a trot the only answer I can get to my question of what she meant by 'distract' as the stiff set of his jaw and the contrary shake his head.

He does not plan on telling me, and I can not say I am terribly pleased with that, though I have not decided how annoyed I am either.

I put it out of my mind for the time being though, when one of the stable hands comes forward and extends his hands, first to relieve me of the basket of plums and my bundled dresses, then again in silent offer to help me down. Once my feet are back on the ground Randulfr's soon follow with a solid thud.

But now with that done I still do not find myself with the opportunity to question him further. His father's shape appears out of the inner courtyard, and with a beckoning motion from him I watch my fiancee retreat with an apologetic bow, leaving me a little flustered from the quick way I seem to have been abandoned. Brynja though is a very perceptive woman as well.

"Do not be upset with him my dear." She advises calmly as she steps back up to my side and takes my hand, leading us both back to the way I rode in to the gardens ."You have chosen to be a warrior's wife. The pace of our lives is quicker then most." She is right of course, and I agree with her, letting her know so by returning her gentle smile.

"So I am seeing." My family, my mother and father, are not warriors, nor do they come from families with strong military history so I did not become familiar with it in my youth, but in my time at the palace and the healing hall have put me in the presence of the Einherjar quite a bit. They are either stationary or moving with purpose, they seem to have no middle ground.

It is something Brynja has learned well, being a shield wife and shield mother herself.

"But come, let us retire to the garden for now, so the men can have their peace." I nod of course, agreeing because the suggestion is sound but also because I am very fond of the garden here at their estate.

The home I grew up in is small when you judge it by Asgardian standards, who prefer to build both for height and width. It has less then ten rooms, and much less then this estates intimidating eight floors. It also had no garden of its own, though there were many public ones nearby. But that agreement does not stop me from asking her the question I have been meaning to instead.

"You mentioned you were to distract me?" She is candid about it, offering up a noncommittal shrug as she walks us toward the outer wall of the estate, and to the small sitting area by the fountain.

"Yes, my son plans a surprise for you, but you knowing that will not diminish your reaction to it, I have no fear of that." She also continues on, seeing a question I have but one I am not sure how to phrase. "He bid me not tell you, but while he means well, he forgets that as a shield wife, we learn quickly not to regard surprises with much joy..."

That too I can understand. When my mother learned an Einherjar had made an offer for my hand it was a concern of hers that if I said yes I might someday suffer the news of his loss. It was also her earnest protests that I change my mind when I did as she feared and said yes to Randulfr.

My mother seeks to protect me from every barb and sting the world may ever bring me, while Brynja seeks to help me thicken my hide against the inevitable. "...It is better that you become accustomed to that sooner than later."

After she says that she lets her hand slide casually free from its resting spot as she steps away, intent for a moment to check the state of her rose bushes. As for me I do not wander, choosing instead to sit on the wide stone edge of the fountain itself, letting my focus shift to the leisurely swimming of the spotted koi in the pond next to me, a species actually native to Vanaheim. I even venture a grin as I watch them break into a game of chase between the roots of the lily pads. After a few minutes it seems she is satisfied with the state of her flowers, and her attention drifts back to mine.

The words "Now then..." catching my attention. "...I have heard from my son that you had an evaluation in your studies recently, but not how you fared?" This is a conversation I do not mind, not that I had any opposition to the one before.

"I did well, Lady Eir was satisfied enough to allow me to continue taking patients."

"But you were not were you, with yourself?" She says it with a knowing smirk, and I do not bother trying to hide it, because it is true enough.

"I thought I could do better, I should have done better, if it was a real injury..." In the midst of my words she moves to take a spot next to me.

"You do not need to explain my dear, I understand. You and I are not so different."

"I may have..." She glances back at the house and the stables beyond with a look of pride and love in her eyes. "...chosen a different path in life than yours, but regardless, there is no shame in wanting to be the best at what you do." She says that part with her eye back on mine, and her hand resting over mine as she gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"But try and remember Arnora..." Her voice is still just as warm and gentle, but it bares some seriousness now as well. "That you are still young, you have only just become a women. Even your revered Aunt did not yet earn her fame at this age. You will be a great healer my dear, is everyone expects of you, but do not drown yourself in their expectations. Yes?"

She is right again. It is a conversation I have had before, usually with my mother and with more hostility. Unlike my mother however I think Brynja understands it a little better. I feel bad for thinking it, because I do not blame my mother, but she just does not understand what I mean when I tell her 'I must'.

My mother was not born into a family with status, she married into it. She was not born with any obligations placed on her, but I was and she can not seem to understand that makes my life different. Brynja does though. Her father was general in Odin's army, a venerated war hero that fought against and gave his life to defeat the armies of Jotunheim. Being his only child she was expected to honor her father's memory by marrying a soldier worthy enough and bearing a strong son.

We do not do it because were are forced or pressured by the ones we love, we do it because they are the ones we love. Why would we not want to do what is best our family? _We do it because we must._

"You are a strong woman Arnora, no one with sense should have any doubt of that. Even if you are young and bookish." That part makes me let out a small laugh. "You will be a fine shield wife to my son, and make your family proud, just remember to be patient and let yourself be young from time to time, age finds us all soon enough." Any further words of wisdom are interrupted by the arrival of one of her stable hands, this one different than the one that helped me from the horse before.

"Pardon me Mistress, My Lady..." he greets us both before shifting his attention back to her. "...the lords are ready for you now."

"Well then..." She dismisses the man with a smile before standing and holding her hand out to me. "Shall we go give them what they want?"

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

NOON

HAVARDR'S ESTATE

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

We find the men standing in the ring of the inner courtyard, not far from where we left them. Her husband is leaning on the stone fence in between the pillars and continues some discussion with Randulfr, while he stands in the sand within the display ring. His hands and focus are half occupied by the mare within as he examines its tack, but both stop when we step into sight.

It is Havardr who steps forward first to greet me, his hands resting on my shoulders as he places a fatherly kiss on the top of my head, already stepping into the role of step parent just like his wife, even if our engagement is still young they both treat it with the confidence of certainty.

"Come." He jests as he turns and motions me to follow through the arch. "Before my son accuses me of keeping you to myself." Giving in to his urging I do just that, and soon find the next hand to reach for me is that of my fiance as I step up to him, and taking it let him draw me into a light embrace at his side. He is not the only one seeking my attention though. With a gentle laugh I give into the mare's urging as well, bringing my hand up to scratch the bridge of its nose so it will stop using my shoulder to do it itself.

"And who is this?" The words are directed toward the people around me even if the one I am looking at it is still the dappled mare in front of me. It is Randulfr who answers, his hand idly thumbing my palm affectionately as he smiles in approval at the behavior of the horse under my hand.

"Her name is Móna, she is a broodmare that my father has decided to retire. She has produced many a fine mount in her time though, including my own." _Ah, so this is Vindur's mother._ Knowing who her son is does speak volumes about her own character indeed. It takes a fine mother to produce a fine child, the matter of species is of little importance.

"I see..." I say, facing my fiance with a smile, before my lack of attention is corrected by a firmer nudge into my palm, earning another chuckle, and more enthusiasm behind my touch. "...and what is to happen to her now?"

"Well that would be a decision for you to make." This time even her nudging doesn't draw my attention back. Hearing those words my face turns to his in alarm and stays there as the realization sinks in.

"You are..." I pause as my expression is overtaken by a dismayed smile. "...giving me a horse?!"

"Is my gift unappreciated?" The question is from my betrothed, and it is spoken with a smirk, but I am still so startled by the whole ordeal that I answer it as if its spoken seriously.

"No, no of course not, it is just..." I pause again, this time with an embarrassed laugh. "...forgive me, it seems I know not the words to use." I am met with agreeing laughter from each of them at my flustered state.

"Might I suggest a thank you for my son?" Is the suggestion I receive from Brynja. But my response is a bit unexpected.

"Forgive me again, but I am not sure I can in good conscious..." I add an explanation before it turns to offensive. "...I have no means to house her." I am of course referring to my parent's home. It is by no means a small home in my opinion, but neither is it large, and it most assuredly has no stable with which to permanently board a horse of my own despite the small hitching house in the nearby courtyard. "Let alone see to her needs."

"If that is your concern it need not be my love." This time it is Randulfr who chimes back in as he lifts my chin gently with his knuckles, offering a reassuring smile to accompany his reassuring words. "She will be boarded and tended here, as she has been, to be used at your disposal. All arrangements have been made, rest assured, this surprise was well prepared."

After a moment when nothing comes to mind, all I can think to do is to raise myself up onto my toes and press his lips with a kiss, ignoring the amused cheers of his parents and the stable-hands.


	4. Chapter 4

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to T.W.W.i.U will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN on under the same title and pen name.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

THIS YEAR ON MIDGARD

King John I of Portugal and King Richard II of England ratify the Treaty of Windsor.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

It was a strange and wonderful experience; I had ridden horses many times before, both on my own, accompanied by my father while I was still learning how, or in the saddle with Randulfr. This time though counted as a first, because this time the horse was MINE! She cantered with grace over the cobblestone streets of Asgard, calm and confident despite the life of the city all around her. It seems Havardr trains even the horses he never intends to sell. Though just like her son she nickers in excited interest when I halted her in front of a fruit vendor's booth.

The day was not entirely joyous though, for I was riding alone. After the excitement passed Randulfr took my hand in such a quiet way I knew something was wrong. He apologized, and then I really knew. My fiancee is a soldier, a lieutenant in the royal guard. His wishes, and my wishes, fall second to his captain's wishes. A captain whose wishes fall second to his General's wishes, a General whose wishes fall second to his King's. My anniversary must fall second to his duties as a soldier.

The disappointment was there, I will not dishonor my betrothed's intelligence by pretending it was not, but I only let the frown linger for a moment before I lifted my head and offered him an understanding smile and a nod. I agreed to marry a man of the sword so I knew this would be part of that arrangement even when I made it. That life sometimes means enduring the things we find unpleasant is no longer secret to sneak up on me.

So I told him I would take the time to stretch her legs in the field, and learn the limits of her abilities. Havardr, being a proud man both personally and professionally said that would take me all day, and I took that challenge with a chuckle, much to his surprise.

Surviving in Freya's halls I had to learn very quickly how to be mild mannered, quiet, and exceptionally courtesy to avoid the majority of her wrath each day. I applied those skills to the rest of my interactions with those at court, even when I was introduced to a retired General by his son. Sometimes Havardr still seems to forgets there is more to me then the 'little servant mouse'.

Randulfr swore that he would call on me later as soon as his shift came to an end, and promised to make up for any offense I felt on _this_ day. I told him lovingly and with another kiss that I felt none.

It is also strange that just recalling that affectionate display makes me blush. Yes, he is my fiancee, and it is my right to kiss him if I choose, or him me but in truth, we have not shared very many of those despite it being our second year engaged. My fiancee is a noble and patient man, he waited for me to initiate the first kiss.

He knew without pressing me for it that he was going to be the first man outside of my father that I ever kissed. I am a little more then a child in comparison to him, both in physical development, and life experience.

Randulfr is almost twenty seven where I have just turned sixteen; he never pushed the matter even though he could have. That might be why it took me a year and almost three quarters of the next before I found my courage to do so. It would be stupid of me to think he never kissed anyone before me, I was so worried I would to it wrong, but it was not the sort of thing I could ask someone to teach me.

I am blushing even worse now, just thinking about the difference between a family kiss, and his. But it does not matter out here for there is no one to see me.

Taking my time I rode Móna down the slowly sloping roads of the multi-tiered inner city, observing as I had done many times the way the architecture grew smaller and simpler as we went along. Then I rode Móna across the channel that marked the barrier between the inner and outer ring of Asgard.

There are three major sections to Asgard. The royal court, the inner city and the outer ring, where we are now is part of the outer ring. It is a large wheat field set north east of Hiemdall's Observatory, and one that I admit might have been a bit farther then I should have taken her on for our first ride.

I had been so caught up in just enjoying the idea of her that before I knew it five hours of the day, and two hundred miles of the ground had passed us by without complaint. _They really did give me an amazing horse._ But while I may have been distracted, and I will own up to that mistake, but now that I am paying more attention I am not going to make her ride on through the hottest part of the day.

The wheat fields are an expansive stretch of undeveloped land set at the outer ring of Asgard, and the last bit of land between the city and the sea, with no sight or sign that anyone-else is out here except myself, and my Móna.

This time I dismount her with no assistance, but still with ease. I may have been born and raised on Asgard, but through my father I am a child of Vanaheim, and the Vanir pride themselves on being excellent horsemen. After I let her rest for a while I intend to leave her side saddle on some sort of rock or landmark, and gallop her to the edge of the water. In the mean time I take the chance to admire her again.

She is such a beautiful beast, I can certainly see proof she is her son's mother. Her dapple gray fades into white one half way up the column of her throat, and stays that shade except for her dark muzzle. While in the other direction, the dapple of her coat solidifies into a shade of gray that is almost black on her legs. As for her mane, it is also black but it lacks the streaks of her son's. _Just a magnificent creature._

She seems to sense my unspoken praise, much to my amusement. Still content to trot through the fields she turns her head to look at me when she realizes I am not following her. She turns around to return to me, pressing her muzzle into the hand I raise for her, letting out a happy snort as I give her bridge a light scratch. It gives me the distinct impression of a mother checking on her foal, and it makes me wonder how long it has been since she was separated from her last, or perhaps if she has spent so much of her life as a mother she simply became stuck in the habit.

Either way after I press my forehead to her own I give her shoulder a light smack to encourage her to wander and that is all it takes. After all, we are in a field full of spring wheat, and even an old mother has to listen to her stomach at some point.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

LOKI ODINSON

* * *

Thor is bored, and things never seem to turn out pleasant when Thor is bored. Worse still, Thor is bored while being banned from the Bifrost. Father is in talks with Alfheim today, something I believe to do with ratifying a new trade agreement, as well as renewing the arrangement regarding our reserve forces stationed there. He does not want Thor doing anything that will embarrass the family, since with Thor that has never been hard for him to accomplish.

So Mother in her wisdom, casually mentioned in a conversation with her maids, one that conveniently was also with in earshot of my petulant brother, that she heard there was a natural pool on one of the small islands northeast of the bridge. That is how I ended up being half dragged out of Yggdrasil's branches by my tunic, so my knowledge of Asgard's geography could help him and his friends find an island I am fairly confident Mother just made up.

I contented myself with the knowledge that it would be an opportunity for me to exercise my stallion, Gandur, for the day instead of just letting the stable hands do it. Even I know it is important to spend time on one's horse, if just to maintain the familiarity between beast and rider. After all, the knowledge in the Tree was not going anywhere.

Among our company is Volstagg son of Vandrad, a 31 year old man who, while not an Einharjar, has earned the title Honor-guard for the bravery he displayed in defense of Midgard during the Jotunn conflict. Mother sent him to keep an eye on us today, no doubt because Thor would never realize this storytelling friend of his was also acting as his nanny.

Hogun son of Hargha, older then us at 22, but still younger then Volstagg. He is a Vanir envoy, the one selected by his village, which happens to be one of the larger ones by Vanaheim's standards, and as such has had frequent enough dealings in court that he became close acquaintances with my brother and I. Mother and Father encouraged this friendship because they felt the closeness in our ages would be beneficial down the line.

Then beyond Thor and myself there is Fandral son of Finnr. Finnr is our thrice removed step uncle, and Fandral is his 15 year old bastard. But to Thor none of that mattered. Thor did as he always does, made the assumption that all people want to be friends with a Prince, and so far it has not proved untrue. He saw him dueling with a sabre, and thought the choice of weapon was so interesting he immediately challenged him to a sword fight, and won when he decided that tackling his opponent was fair.

Then there is the odd Sif daughter of Sunna. She is only twelve so she can not yet be called a lady, and from the impression I get out of her I am not certain she would ever want to be. I was not there when Thor met her, but I have heard the story. It was the same day he met Fandral. For whatever reason, the master of the local arena thought it acceptable to let a untrained little girl play as warrior there, and after she saw Thor tackle her friend, she challenged him herself. I would have expected Thor to be furious over that, a commoner not taking her prince seriously, but instead he was impressed by the tiny maiden's courage and that earned her a place in our company.

Once the ride started I fell into the comfort of it. Even if I would have chosen to stay in the halls of Yggdrasil and study, having the cool wind pass over my skin is pleasant enough to be worth it as I drive my chestnut stallion into a faster gallop, unintentionally starting a race among the group that I had no desire of stopping.

It did stop however when Fandral suddenly slowed his horse and drifted out to the south, making the rest of us follow suite out of curiosity. It took us no more then a second to notice the shape of a dappled mare wandering in the fields, and we came to the same conclusion as Fandral did no doubt. The horse had most likely slipped its reins or jumped out of a paddock somewhere and wandered away from its owner. It would only take us a moment to collect the animal and backtrack into the city, locating an Einharjar who would see the mare back to whoever it belonged to.

Then his surprised scream was drowned out by the higher pitched one of his horse as it reared up at a leaning angle, and staggering to the left a step, before Fandral lost his battle with gravity and fell out of his saddle hard enough that dust actually seemed to rise up as he landed on the flat of his back! Dust is not all that rose up either.

The sight of the once peacefully grazing mare snapping at Fandral's stallion while he started scrambling still half on his back to avoid their hooves should have spurred us to action, and it did with Hogun at least. The rest of us were frozen by the sight of a young woman with grass and wildflowers clinging to her hair as she rises on unstable feet in her haste, and practically snarls at Fandral!

"You tardy gaited whoreson, have you no eyes in your damnable head!" In the half second before she realizes the fool who almost ran her over is not alone.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

While Móna grazed on the young wheat, I found a spot to lay down. Not with the intention to sleep so much as just surrender to the moment. My mother, and Mýrún too no doubt if she ever found out, would probably be quite cross about my disregard for my clothes. It is hardly proper for a young lady to lay in the dirt, and if it were one of my uniforms I never would of. But I am too much a child of my Fathers people to not love the feel of nature against my skin. There is a wildness in my blood that has nothing to do with Asgard.

I could feel the warmth of the sun seep into my skin, and the swaying coolness of the shadows as the clouds moved over head and the light breeze shifted the tall grasses. I could smell them with every deep breath I took, the heavy dampness of earth and the fresh green of broken stalks. I can even hear their whispering as they move with the wind, though down on the ground it is more of a hum then a whisper, and it is loud enough that I did not hear the hooves until that shadow almost covered me.

If the horse was scared to see me then I was terrified. As I tried to roll out of the way I felt the wind it stirred brush through my hair as it reared up on its hind legs, with hooves that only hindered me further, jerking me back to the ground as it stumbled and one of its hooves pinned my skirt against the dirt, the sudden tension pulling on my waist and making me fall back into the dirt right with that blonde fool who must be the animal's rider.

I was not mad at the horse because it was not trying to kill me, it was simply doing what the man on its back was telling it to, but I have much less sympathy and understanding for the man who is still trying to recover from an impact that clearly knocked the wind out of him, and even as he stares wide at me upon hearing me curse at him, only now realizing I was there, all I can think about is if kicking this blond stranger is justified or not. That idea dies as I realize there is another blond haired young man in a group accompanying him, and his face I know without question.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

LOKI

* * *

One look at Thor was all it took, not that it is in any way surprising. While most of the citizens of Asgard have never met or never will meet any of the royal family in person, we are still well known. Thor in particular lately has become more identifiable to the people ever since he started participating in the tournaments. Whether it is his face or the royal insignia she recognizes first, she now knows what she failed to notice before: that the man she just insulted is in Royal company.

The way she almost crumples into that curtsy so quickly makes it clear she has no delusions about how grave the mistake she just made is. She may have no idea who Fandral is, but the company he keeps is enough to tell her he is at the very least a Nobleman's son. A Nobleman's son, who she called the son of a whore. While her insult was surprisingly intuitive, given that Fandral was born outside of marriage, I doubt she has any way of knowing that. I also doubt she has any idea to Fandral's nature, or Thor's mood. For all she knows there is a severe punishment waiting for her in the immediate future.

"Your Highness's, please forgive me. I did not realize to whom I was speaking, and I beg your mercy for the rash ignorance of my tongue." What my brother thinks of her I am not sure, nor am I paying enough attention to him to check. I find myself very interested in this young woman, because somehow in the back of my mind I think I found her interesting before.

I do not think she is a commoner as I first assumed, even without the stains and tears now decorating her lavender dress, it lacks the patterned silk, or embroidery the upper class tend to wear. It is the way she assumes humility that gives it away. Her bow, even here in the middle of a field, is executed with posture and poise. She is not just mimicking what she has seen nobles do, she has been taught; and not even a twisted ankle on uneven ground disrupts her form.

I missed it at first, which honestly makes her all the more intriguing. She hides it well, but now that I have noticed it is even clearer. While she is not leaning to either side in her curtsy, I can tell she is actually favoring her weight on her right side by the way her sandal sinks just a fraction deeper into the dirt. Her face shows it as well, but only because I am aware. While I imagine the others think it is fear that has her jaw tensed the way it is I think she is actually biting her cheek as a distraction from the other pain.

That is what makes me recall where I remember her from. It is no surprise I forget. It was a passing glimpse almost half a year ago. Oddly enough it was also directly related to Fandral, he was the fool too proud to seek out a healer. He thought if his injury was known it would ruin his odds at wooing the women in court.

I only noticed her because I could feel her. Those who practice magick eventually develop a sort of tactile aura that can be sensed by others who utilize the art, and then there are those born with the skill that always have it. Now naturally with practice one can cloak their aura if they wish, but that is a skill that takes time to learn.

When I felt her's, I felt a powerful practitioner, I learned many things from just feeling her aura. I could tell she was born with the magick in her blood, and I could tell that her blood was of Vanaheim because her energy was not that of Seiðr which draws its power from the mind and will of the user, but Galdr which they say draws its power from the song of the heart. Given the hall I was in I thought the woman I felt was Eir, the headmistress of the healing college, and I considered giving the task of healing the buffoon to her instead. When I looked though I only saw a bashful young woman dressed in the clothes of a palace servant girl.

I did not continue my search farther then because in truth I did not care who healed Fandral. I only went to the hall myself because if the idiot did not see a healer the tendon that he severed would probably reattach itself in the wrong place, and I would have to endure the next dozen centuries listening to his tale of woe when he ended up lame.

My analysis of her, as well as whatever conclusions the rest of the group tried or failed to come to are all interrupted by the return of Hogun. That he rides back, a different set of reins occupying each hand and neither belonging to his own black bay is no surprise. The Vanir, particularly those who grow up in the realm itself, pride themselves of their horseman ship. Learning how to steer their horse with their knees is a part of that. It is mostly used by their mounted archers, but I hear that they teach it to every horse they break.

As he slows his canter back to a walk the frozen state of time seems to speed back up. Volstagg is the one I notice to take action first. As Hogun and his charges ride up, our fiery haired elder leans a bit to the side with the foresight to hold out his hand and take one of the horses reins out of Hogun's. It turns out to be her dappled mare because the beast took an interest in the contents of his saddle bags, while his own black draft horse also took mild interest in the mare.

It was Sif who acted next, impetuous and with much more to prove, she quickly slid out off of her pale palomino to help her friend up, since Fandral was still dumbstruck on his back in the dirt in front of yet another woman. The fact that he is in the dirt is the only new addition to the routine. However, seeing Sif's intentions he waved her off gently and finally decides he can stand on his own like the man he so often reminds us he is.

Then there is Thor. I swear I almost wince with the poor girl as my brother, in his boorish stupidity lets out a jovial bellow from the back of his heavy white destrier, giving the horse a reassuring pat as it reacts to his volume before turning to Fandral and saying one of the most likely things to make the poor girl feel even closer to the grave.

"My my Fandral, I think that is the most severe insult to your honor we have heard all day, it is not?"

"Yes, I suppose it is your Highness." Are the words Fandral offers back as he finishes brushing the dirt off his clothes out of respect. He may have earned a place in Thor's entourage, but even if he was not the bastard son of one of our distant relations, he would still be a lesser noble and he knows it. Its why he made sure to address Thor properly even if I have seen Thor wave it off a few times. However no matter much Fandral practices propriety, it is still Fandral.

"My lady," He turns to her now, and despite looking at her, is completely oblivious to everything except her femininity. "My sincerest apologies, I did not realize the grass..." He says with a bit of a chuckle as he tries to shift his blame to things that can not refute it. "... was hiding such a lovely secret." Its enough to draw the words, if not the logic behind them, out of my mouth.

"You should leave her alone, or do your senses still rest in the dirt?"

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

As much as I appreciate the attention being pulled away from me, however briefly, I can not say it gives me any relief. I do not want to be the cause of conflict between a Prince and his companions, or as it seems, a Prince and a Prince.

Though I still have not looked up to see for certain, my ears can tell the speaker of those words is a young man, and I can only think of one other who would speak with such confidence behind his bold words. The rider of the copper bay stallion, who is wearing a pair of quilted black leather riding boots, must be the other prince of Asgard. Loki Odinson. _I never should have left the stables, I never should have left the college. I never should have left my house. I never should have left my room!_

If I had any gift in foresight, I would have hid myself away beneath my quilts and furs for the day. Instead though I find myself out here, listening as the hearty voice of Prince Thor turns from jovial to haughty as he says his brother's name in a clear scold, and the voice of the blond noble I unseated takes on an understated note of irritation.

"My apologies Lord Loki, but are you really suggesting I should not check on the Lady?"

"Not at all _cousin_ , but perhaps when you are done pretending you are not admiring her curves, you might notice she is favoring her leg, and that she wears a silver key."

A silver key is the traditional token given to a woman by the man she chooses to be betrothed to. It is given as a token of trust, because it represents the keys to the household the woman will inherit after the marriage finally occurs, but it also serves as a sign to other men that the woman is spoken for. Yet while I do appreciate the younger prince calling attention to the charm on my necklace, and sparing me from any further attempts at flattery from his blond companion, I am not quite as relieved by it as I should be. The necklace has slipped beneath the halter neckline of my dress and is only partially visible through the keyhole cut resting over my chest.

But that embarrassing observation is smothered by another one, when as if his words were some sort of command, I find my posture finally trembles from the pain. Maintaining this stance has in truth been a small agony, even with the fact that I am resting most of my weight on my uninjured leg because it means I have been stretching the Achilles tendon on the other one.

However I thought if I exercised considerable focus, I could almost shift my senses beyond it. It was like focusing all your attention toward your fingertips to ignore the fact you have a headache. They say Eir is so skilled at it she can temporarily prevent the nervous system's ability to register pain without any medicine or tools beyond her own innate magick. they also say that it took her four hundred and fifty years to master it on herself, and another 150 to master performing it for others due to the great variance of bodies not her own. That means I am about 425 years short.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

HOGUN HARGHASON

* * *

After I handed off the young woman's horse to our outspoken party member, a man I only recently met named Volstagg, I then move on and handed Fandral's horse off to the youngest member of our group.

While the son of Vandrad might be a new acquaintance to me, I am a bit more familiar with Fandral, his new found friendship with the Princes, and my occupation as an envoy to my village has put us in semi frequent contact. With that I have also become acquainted with the young daughter of Sunna, the maiden Sif.

It is her that I choose to surrender Fandral's horse to, but not because she was unoccupied. In fact, when I held out the reigns to her I interrupted her attempt to slide out of her saddle. I could see in her face that whatever she intended to do was meant with the best intentions, but she is a bit brash in her attempt to prove herself in the Prince's presence, and I hoped to spare the other young Lady such treatment.

I cannot in truth recall her name but that does not mean I am unaware of who she is. I have seen her face pass through my village often enough to assume she must have family or friends there, and if I am not mistake, given the uniqueness of her eyes, she might the same young woman who caught eye of my older sister's son, Hnaki. He described a biracial young woman, with exotically rimmed green eyes. He even said he was going to ask her father for her hand, but his lack of joyous news after that leads me to believe that his own shyness undid him. He either never asked, or never spent time with the young lady to create a connection, and the necklace she now wears means she must have chosen someone-else.

The fact that she seems to recognize me even makes me more certain she is the young woman. Bringing my horse a few feet from Prince Thor's own I do not miss the way her body shivers more after her eyes avert themselves back to the dirt after her glance.

"Your Highness." The formality is spoken despite the fact I already have his attention."If there is to be no punishment, with your permission?" That I am asking to tend to her injury is an unnecessary request but its granted just as I knew it would be.

"Yes of course, she is one of your people I assume, its only fitting." And the last part is directed past me to put her at ease. "I do not punish those who make me laugh."

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

I am not going to pretend those words did not relieve me of an immense weight, but before I could embarrass myself by letting my shoulders sag or breathing out a chuckle, someone-else's actions finally overshadow my own.

Even before the elder Prince said he did not punish those who amused him the envoy was already turning his horse and he brought it to stand within a few feet of myself. He dismounted too, which was expected, but instead of handing off the horse's reigns to someone-else, he ticked his teeth in a commanding sound, and the horse laid down in front of me.

The reason become perfectly clear when he held out his hand and swayed a glance between the beasts saddle and myself. He was using his horse to give me something other then the dirt to sit in.

As an engaged young woman its expected that I refuse the attention of other men out of respect to my fiancee, but like any other social situation there are exceptions. I have never formally been introduced to the envoy, but Hogun hails from and represents the village my grandmother lives in so I know who he and his family are, and I imagine he knows who I am if by his nephew at the very least. I also know Hogun is married and a father of his own children, which makes his offer to assist me one of purer altruism then the blonde nobleman's. That is why I take the envoy's hand, before any of the hands from these other men can make offers of their own.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

LOKI

* * *

After she spurns any and all of Fandral's attention in favor of the quieter, and more importantly married Vanir envoy the situation picks up a little speed. I find it mildly amusing, and a relief that she is so put off by our distant cousin. I am beginning to think she is an intelligent young woman, and if she forgave him so quickly because of some pretty words I would be nauseatingly disappointed with my miscalculation in her character.

As it stands though I am now more curious then I was before as she blushes from her spot on the resting horse's saddle, flinching softly and averting her eyes farther toward the dirt. I find my confusion growing and a seed of irritation sprouting within it. _Is this her game?_

I first saw her in the healer's college. She was dressed as a simple palace servant at the time so I over looked her in my search for a healer. Now though, as I study that memory I see her standing next to one of them, but with no tray, scroll or pouch to indicate she was there on an errand. She even bowed when the rest of the unoccupied healers did, just like the one at her side. If they had been conducting business they could have continued since I was not approaching them.

I think this woman is a healer herself, so why has she not healed yet? Even a student without any natural abilities who has not added their first leaf to their brooch should be able to fix such a minor wound with one of the stones they almost certainly carry. But this woman is a born practitioner, she could have healed herself even before she rose from the grass.

The only reason I can think is that she has not because she wants the attention. I am disappointed and offended at the idea. She is just another stupid girl at court, wielding her femininity like a coy blade. And then my brother says my name. "Loki, perhaps you can help?"

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

Even though the envoy was the only real acceptable choice, he was a married man of some familiarity, and not too far above my own station, I still found the situation embarrassing. After all, even as he was gentle in his examination, he still had to cradle my sandal clad foot in his large calloused hands. Now though I find the situation crossing the border into frightening.

"Loki, perhaps you can help?" While he had been carefully turning my ankle to determine if leaving the sandal on would be the better option for now, the others were searching their supplies for a healing stone they can not seem to find, and I was busy trying not to show how mortified I really was. My own personal promise of not using my magick outside of the hall, unless in dire need, prevented me from healing myself or announcing my occupation earlier, and I continued in that silence because with each passing second the dishonorable light such an announcement would cast me in only gets brighter. They would think I was one of those girls, who values attention above all else, when all I really want is to loose the attention I already have.

Then prince Thor asked prince Loki, if perhaps being a student of the Seiðr arts himself if he could do something for my ankle, and one look at his eyes says he knows. _Please no. I should have just stayed in bed._ Even though his words are drenched with annoyance, I actually take them with relief.

"I see no need, it is just her ankle, put the girl on her horse again, and let us ride on." Until it seems to start an argument among the rest.

"Loki?!" The first to object, is his brother, and with little but shock to express. The next is the other blonde in the group, the one I unsaddled. "What is this cousin, where is the concern you had before?" And he actually gets a reply from the younger prince.

"It left, as should we. We have no stone, so we have no reason to stay. If we put her on her horse she can make her way back to the city just fine and find a healer."

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

LOKI

* * *

Playing the role of villain is an annoying necessity, not just because it will probably leave the group cross with me for the rest of the day, but also because of how easy it was to draw out their senseless anger. If they had half a thought in their head they would probably see that was my intention all along.

The argument continues to follows the path I knew it would. First comes the suggestion of at least having someone escort her back, but it is an idea no one wants to volunteer for. The old man, Volstagg, is obviously out of the question since he is watching us under secret orders from out mother, and while Fandral would be happy to, neither the woman he hurt, nor his child of a friend, Sif, seems to want him too. Thor of course is not volunteering at all because it would put a delay on his fun, and Hogun cannot do it either, because Thor seems to think this would be a great experience for the Vanir envoy, as if swimming does not exist on Vanahiem, and one does not just walk out on a royal invitation. So with no one available, the next suggestion was the one I was really waiting for.

"Well brother, you are a Seiðmaðr. Can you at least do something to ease her pain for a little while?" Though I am less then delighted by the fact Thor had to use that word, and the pathetically repressed chuckles it elicits, I am more intrigued by the reaction it inspires in her.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

 _That word, I hate that word. They always laugh when they say that word, it does not matter about who._ I did not mean to but I stiffened at that word, and the pain disguised my indignant sniff, an outcome to my benefit if not to my liking. I want to tell him that his words are callous and cold, and that a brother deserves better, but he is a prince, and I am not stupid enough to think that would not be seen as anything less then an insult.

"And how do you think I shall do that Thor? An incantation? Shall I draw runes on her skin? Or perhaps, as they do on Midgard, I should fix it with a kiss, though I hear that turns them into frogs. Would you like a frog leg my dear?" If I had a response to those shocking suggestions, other then breath weighted down by dismay, it was not given a chance to be spoken anyways.

"Loki enough. Will you help her or not?" I do not need to look at his eyes to know he finds this a terrible imposition, his voice echoes it when he says,

"Since you are insisting on it brother, I will at _least_ try." The heavy way his boots sound against the dirt as he dismounts, and their quick pace over to us only adds to the picture. The signature to his mood though turns out to be his expression. When he steps closer and squats down in the vacant spot created a second ago by the envoy, I can finally see his face, because he tells me to. "Look at me my lady." And all I can think of is the excitement of a cat when its cornered a mouse. "I will need your leg, in my hands."

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

LOKI

* * *

They say it is hard for Vanir to blush, given the shade of their skin, but this one is apparently biracial enough that she can turn quite rosey in her shame as she does what she is told. What I wanted made her eyes widen and her breath hitch, but she was smart enough to recognize it for the command it was, so she lowered her eyes in resignation and lifted her leg with no protest but the small sniff when her ankle meet the solidness of my hand.

That drove out all the cruel humor from me. Not because of the sound of pain, which I thought she was playing up for the groups benefit, but the sight of her ankle which I could now examine closely. There is a shadow between the ball of her heel and the knob of her ankle which I could not see before because it is tucked mostly beneath the band of her sandals, but it is a shadow that has nothing to do with the light.

She twisted her ankle so badly that already, a few minutes later, the blood has started pooling under her skin. I thought she was using her injury to seek attention, that she chose to leave it unhealed. Now I think I was wrong, maybe she can not heal it, maybe she is not a healer. She is certainly impressive though, because I thought her a pretender I was not exactly handling her with gentle hands yet her eyes are still dry. Though she does flinch a little when my fingers brush the first leather knot but it is not out of pain.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

AFTERNOON

EASTERN WHEAT FIELDS

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

 _He is going to take off my sandal, and he did not even ask. Of course not, he is a prince, why would he do that? The more important question is what am I going to do. He is a prince, and he is going to take off my shoe!_ I want to say no, every single part of me wants to say no, because even if it were my fiancee it would be indecent to let a man take of any article of my clothing out in public, but he is my prince and I do not know if I can refuse, even for this?

Not that it matter so much, because as my panicky silence continues so does the movement of his fingers. He is surprisingly gentle in his deft unraveling of each knot, but it is not until I feel his skin slide past the leather backing of my footwear to cradle the base my calf that my mortification really sinks in. _Randulfr is going to be furious!_

"You were hurt." I hid my shame behind my eyelids and pinched my cheek between my teeth, but when he spoke those words I was so surprised by them I stopped. He is not looking at me, his attention is focused on the process of carefully slipping the sandal past the edge of my toes, but I know he is keenly aware of my eyes on him, given the tugging of a soft smirk. "Tell your fiancee that, if you must tell him at all. I have no interest in your honor."

That last sentence gets rewarded by the sound of exasperated voices, but whatever the words were I do not hear them, I am too busy processing what only I seemed to notice underneath them. They think the prince was insensitive, but I actually think he was being sympathetic, behind a apathetic facade.

And then he lifted my leg a little higher and blew a stream of cold air against the bruising that startled me so much I squeaked, to the chortling of the rest of them.

* * *

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

* * *

On the subject of Asgardian ages: Not all of the characters in the movies come with a concrete birthrate, so I based a lot of their ages on the ages of the actors or actresses portraying them, but if some of there ages seem off at parts (like the fact that Sif is only 12 well the rest of them range from 15 – 31, that is not a mistake, that is intentional. Don't worry, I have a chart made so I keep track of all the ages, but I couldn't reconcile myself to the idea of a 35 year old newborn, so this is what I did. Asgardians, in there natural state, age at a rate of 1 year to our three. So by the time they are physically 10, lived lived for 30 of our years. At that point they are developed enough that they gain access to Idunns apples, which re-adjusts the rate they age to 1 physical year/35 actual years or if they are royalty 1 physical year/50 actual years. It does create some discrepancy the farther back you go, but it does allow for each character to be the age their actor was when they first portrayed them on film.

Regarding Eir, and her ability to anesthetize her own nerves, as well as the nerves of others. Since 450 years to learn a skill, to us as humans with a life span of about 100 tops seems like a long time, so I will put that in perspective. Eir was the physical equivalent of 24 when she mastered that level of control within her own body, and 28 when she mastered how to do it for others regardless of race, gender, age, or patient familiarity. That is very impressive, and that Arnora at 16, has learned the fundamentals enough to actually attempt it, is HUGE.

On to the part where Loki chills Arnora's ankle to numb the pain caused by her spraining it: Yes, Loki used cold magick, and yes we have seen in the movies that cold can reveal his Jotun form. But in this chapter, it didn't, and this my take on it. Yes, cold triggers it, but I imagine it has to be a certain level of cold, one he most likely would have a hard time encountering on Asgard, because otherwise every time he drank something cool or went outside in the winter (Asgard has seasons, we saw it snow in Thor The Dark World) he would turn blue, and we know that is not true because even on Jotunheim, which appears to be nothing but cold, it wasn't until one touched him that he found out he wasn't an Asgardian.

Next, regarding the horses in Asgard, while I am aware on earth for a horse to cover 200 miles in five hours it would have to be galloping at 40 mph for 5 hours straight, which I am no expert on horses but that means the horse would have to be at the peak of health, and trained for speed and stamina, not some retired brood mare.

Because while the MCU wikia doesn't state strength levels or weight and I'm not a scientist I'm pulling some of this from the comic wikia and augmenting it to fit into the more realistic tone of the movies. In the comics the average Asgardian is 6ft 450 lbs, that's about three times the average weight of a physically fit human of the same height, now because none of them look obese I am going to assume the weight difference is due to a muscular density difference. So they are three times as dense as we are.

So that must mean the other races of the nine realms (with the exception of Earth) exist on the same or similar level, given that they can fight against or along side as general equals (Hogun is Vanir, but he fights on the same level as Fandral who is Asgardian. the Einherjar who are Asgardian were able to fight the dark elves (and in groups could even take down the Kursed) is physical equals in the opening scene. Loki who is a frost giant was is also able to fight on a similar level to the dark elves. And the Marauders (who were a masked collection of various races) were also able to fight the Einherjar on equal ground).

For a race to evolve to that level means the rest of the life forms, both plant and animals, evolved to that level as well. So their horses are also three times as strong, dense, and for the sake of story (even if I'm pretty sure its not scientifically sound), fast as ours, with the gallop only at twice as fast for the sake of belief. So here is a comparison.

Our horses / Asgardian horses (peak performance, health, and pedigree)  
Walk: 3-4 MPH / Walk: 9-12 MPH  
Trot: 8-10 MPH / Trot: 24-30 MPH  
Canter/Lope: 10-17 MPH / Canter/Lope: 30-51 MPH  
Gallop: 30 MPH-(40 MPH lng)(50 MPH srt) / Gallop: 60 MPH-(80 MPH lng)(100 MPH srt)


	5. Chapter 5

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to T.W.W.i.U will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

THIS YEAR ON MIDGARD

Battle of Sempach: The Swiss safeguard independence from Habsburg rule.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

EARLY EVENING

THE 'SILVER SWAN' TAVERN

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

The smell was _unusual_ to put it kindly, and despite my best efforts to the contrary some of my hesitancy must have shown on my face. "It may not be Suttungmjaðar but it will put new thoughts in your head all the same."

I do not really recall if I made the choice to come here, I simply recall trusting Móna in the care of the stable hands in the local hitching house and seating myself at the bar. That's how Sitric found me, wide eyed, bewildered and quiet.

He recognized me is a friend of his sister so he sent his younger brother to fetch Mýrún, and then gently guided me to their taverns private wine cellar to wait. That's how I ended up with a goblet of peculiar scented mead in my hands,wondering if it is in-fact safe to consume and how I might politely refuse.

Thankfully the refusal is handled for me by the door almost slamming open and the arrival of Mýrún. "DO NOT DRINK THAT!"

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

EARLY EVENING

THE 'SILVER SWAN' TAVERN

ASGARD

* * *

MÝRÚN

* * *

I barely even set foot in the cellar and already my nose caught the somewhat sweet scent of rotten hay. A scent I knew well enough to recognize it was coming from the goblet in Arnora's hand.

"You offered her one of Byggvirs brew? I do not care how much you like him, you can not test his swill on my friends!" I all but seethe as I hold out my hand to relieve her of the 'poison'. Arnora can be too polite for her own good, and my brother knows this. The contents in the goblet quickly find their way down the drainage grate in the floor. The bottle is my next target.

Seeing me reach for it Sitric tries to rescue it from me, but knowing he would I put my foot on the bench in front of him and slide it right into his shins, making him miss his target in his need to brace his fall. "I told you to throw it out anyway, it reeks of barn chaff!"

"Wait!" His protest is slightly delayed as he was occupied with massaging the pain out of his legs, at least until he saw me wrap my hands around the cork. "He worked really hard on that!"

"He should work harder then." I deadpan back as I yank out the stopper and wet the grate once more.

"Here have this." With my imbecile of an older brother dealt with I turn my attention back to Arnora. "It is one of Aegir's ales, it will taste much better."

When Tiorvi found me in the market, he said one of my friends stumbled into the tavern and looked like she was in a state of shock. That was enough to make me leave the dress I planned to buy and hop on the back of the horse.

He did not say who it was, and until I walked through the door I did not even think to ask, but I certainly did not expect it to be her. Especially not given what today meant to her!

When she did not immediately take a drink my impatience for answers finally won out. "What happened?" But my question was not answered by her. "The prince got his hands on that."

"Sitric, this is no time for..." My brother, the Norn's have mercy on him, has a bad habit of phrasing his words to certain affect, and I assumed this was just another one of those occasions. Then I noticed Arnora take a rather hearty gulp of the ale. "...Oh. Your serious." When Sitric's response was to roll his eyes I turned my attention to someone more important. "He is serious?! How serious?

"She said he even undressed her a little." Again he insists on forcing his words in before she can start hers, as if his voice is the one I want to hear. "Am I even talking to you? Get out if you have nothing decent to say! Arnora, is he..." This time her voice finally fills the silence, and fills me with some relief. "It was just my sandal."

"Wish one of the princes would come undress me." Arnora's brow lifts while mine drops and my lips tighten into a line. "Excuse me one second." I say to her as a courtesy before I turn. "GET OUT!"

He actually has the gall to look indignant after his initial surprise, but I have no care fore either as I start ushering him forcefully to the door. "One word of this and I will set Pernilla on you!" The mention of our older sister should be sufficient enough to scare him into silence for a little while. She was an intimidating force even before she started training in the ways of the old Valkyrior like mother. Then I slam it in his face.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

EARLY EVENING

THE 'SILVER SWAN' TAVERN

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

The first words out her mouth after that are spoken with much less volume, and much more concern. "Now tell me what happened?"

"I do not know what to do." My answer is spoken through the muffle of my hands as I hide my face in their grasp. But there is no barrier between her voice in my ears as she chuckles. "Yes, I can see that, since your cowering in our cellar on your anniversary." or the concern that prompts her hand to settle on my shoulder. "What happened? Is there any truth to what Sitric said?"

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

EARLY EVENING

THE 'SILVER SWAN' TAVERN

ASGARD

* * *

MÝRÚN

* * *

I was truthfully hoping for a no, instead I received the words "Far more then there should be."

"I was..." She starts to give the explanation I am almost desperately waiting for, but then seems to loose her courage mid way, and chooses different words. "I have a horse now, did you see it?"

"Arnora, you're starting to worry me." She chuckles at that, before her mood sobers, and she counters that change by draining the goblet to the last drop. "Yes, I know. I worry myself too."

"I met the Princes." She chuckles before she takes another sip as I refilled her ale. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that." She doesn't need to offer me an explanation to that, because I know as the Heir of Eir, once she passed her second tier of studies, there was to be a formal ceremony, where she would be officially recognized as Eir's successor. It was when she was supposed to be introduced to the royal family.

"He took off my sandal." She whispers, starring down into the amber liquid that is rippling in her grasp, her voice half sounding as if she wants to laugh a little. The vibrations settle and so does some of the hysteric notes as I wrap my hands lightly over her own.

"Arnora, if Prince Thor harassed you, you should go to the All-Mother, she will not stand for that." As servants of Asgard we all love our Prince, but working in the royal court as we both do, I am also aware of how much Prince Thor 'loves' us. Ever since he has become a man, his appetites have involved the Palace servant girls, which includes the Healers. It is also no secret that his courting methods, while not physically so, are rather forceful.

That knowledge made my assumption for me. "He didn't harass me, it wasn't prince Thor." Seeing the revelation sink in she confirms it with a nod. "It was Prince Loki."

"An Einherjar came and said Freya summoned me." She spoke that part quickly, just starring at the divets in the stone across from her as she tipped the goblet higher and drained more of her ale. The words and her expression multiplying my confusion.

"I fail to see how that connects to anything?" This time my hand stops her the goblet from tipping farther. I see no crime in her drinking, but I need her sobriety, I doubt I will hear the story clearly without it.

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

EARLY EVENING

THE 'SILVER SWAN' TAVERN

ASGARD

* * *

ARNORA

* * *

"I still could feel his fingerprints lingering on my skin as the Einherjar galloped up. His arrival was a blessedly timed one because the prince released my foot a few seconds earlier, and the grass was tall. The Einherjar saw nothing."

"He greeted them first, his princes, and the nobles with them. I thought he was here for them, so I saw nothing strange and continued to carefully re-tie the strings of my sandal. The muscles were cold and numb from the Prince's enchantment, but it would still hurt if I tied them tightly. Then I heard my name."

"I thought nothing of it as the soldier told me he was looking for Lady Arnora, a handmaiden to Lady Freya. The princess demanded my return. I thought nothing of it except resignation tinged with a bit of dread.

"I continued to think nothing of it until we rode off together and were in sight of the city. Close enough that the figures of people could be seen milling around on the roads and between the buildings, but still so far that face, or senders were completely indistinguishable.

"Then the Einherjar stopped and spoke. He was smirking as he said 'I trust you can manage the rest of the trip on your own.' and he just started to fade, the illusion thinning and letting the field fill its absence."

* * *

ÞÓRSDAGR, HEYANNIR 2ND 1386 AD

THURSDAY, JULY 13TH 1386 AD

EARLY EVENING

THE 'SILVER SWAN' TAVERN

ASGARD

* * *

MÝRÚN

* * *

"So..." I listened to her account of it, puzzling out the details both spoken and unsaid. She must have had a riding accident out there, and hurt her ankle. Her own stubborn refusal to use her magick openly outside the healers halls perpetuating the problem as much as the Prince's presence. But none of that explains what has her so flustered. "... then the Einherjar was an illusion, Prince Loki can cast illusions now? That is strange, but it is rumored he has taken an interest in the Seiðr arts. I do not see what has you so upset?"

"I never once mentioned Freya to them, or that I served in her hall." _Oh. Now I understand._


End file.
